In “The Perfect Spot,” a city girl embarks on a camping trip with her boyfriend, lured by his promise of a secluded, romantic escape deep in the wilderness. After a long trek through a grueling forest trail, the journey culminates in a breathtaking mountain clearing, where moments of intimacy are shared around a crackling campfire. Until something strange happens in the dead of night.
The city had been closing in on me, the constant drone of traffic and the endless news reports of murdered women in dark alleys wearing on my nerves.
So when my boyfriend suggested a camping trip to escape it all, I agreed, though the idea of sleeping on the ground didn’t thrill me. He promised to show me “the perfect spot” deep in the wilderness, far from the crowded trails and the urban chaos that had started to feel oppressive.
He was charming, with his easy smile and warm eyes, but his insistence on this trip felt… intense.
We set out early in his old pickup truck, the bed packed with camping gear that looked like it had been through a few too many trips. The drive was quiet at first, with just the hum of the radio and the crunch of tires on gravel as the city skyline gave way to rolling hills.
I stared out the window, my fingers brushing the switchblade I always kept in my jacket pocket—a habit I couldn’t shake, no matter how hard I tried to leave that part of my life behind.
“You okay?” he asked, glancing over with a grin. “You’re awfully quiet for someone headed to paradise.”
I forced a smile. “Just not big on nature. You sure this place is worth it?”
“Trust me,” he said. “It’s perfect. No one around for miles. Just us and the stars.”
No one around for miles…
The trail was a nightmare. Roots snagged my boots, and the air buzzed with insects. My socks were soaked from a stream we’d crossed hours ago, and every step felt like a personal attack. My boyfriend, though, moved like he belonged here, his strides confident and quick.
“Slow down,” I gasped, tripping over a root. “You’re going too fast. I can’t keep up.”
He glanced back, a mix of amusement and impatience in his eyes. “Hurry up. We need to reach the spot before nightfall.”
“Romantic escape, my ass,” I muttered.
This was his idea—a cozy getaway, he’d said, with campfires and starry skies. I’d agreed to one night of roughing it because he’d been so spooked by those murders in town, insisting the wilderness was safer. But six hours of thorns and soggy socks were pushing me to my limit.
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“How much longer?” I asked, spraying insect repellent in a cloud around me. The chemical stench burned my nose, but it beat the mosquito bites.
“Almost there,” he said with a chuckle, his eyes glinting with something I couldn’t read. “Wait till you see the scenery.”
“Whatever,” I grumbled, pushing through a final tangle of branches. Then the forest opened, and my complaints died in my throat.
We’d reached a vast mountain clearing, the valley below stretching out like a green sea. The sun was dipping low, painting the sky in fiery hues of gold and crimson. It was stunning, like stepping into a dream.
“So,” he said, slinging an arm around my shoulders, “worth the trek?”
I turned to him, my irritation forgotten. I pulled him close, kissing him deeply under the fading light. That was my answer.
We set up camp as the sun sank below the horizon. He pitched the tent with practiced ease while I gathered kindling for the fire. The air cooled, and soon the crackle of the campfire filled the quiet. He pulled a bottle of red wine from his pack, grinning like a kid with a secret.
“You’ve been holding out on me,” I teased, taking the bottle.
“Only the best for you,” he said, winking as he poured the wine into tin mugs.
We sat by the fire, the flames casting shadows across his face. I felt the day’s tension melt away. Later, in the tent, we made love under the blanket of stars filtering through the mesh roof. It was passionate, intimate, and I thought maybe this trip was worth it after all.
Until I woke in the darkness.
The tent was pitch-black. I reached for my boyfriend, expecting his warmth, but found only the cold, empty fabric of his sleeping bag.
“Hey?” I whispered, sitting up.
The campfire’s glow had faded to embers, casting a faint light outside. I unzipped the tent and peered out. The clearing was empty, the shadows thick and unyielding.
“Are you out here?” I called, stepping into the cool night air.
A sharp click sliced through the silence—the unmistakable sound of a revolver being cocked, the barrel aimed at my head. His face was different now, his eyes cold and predatory, a twisted grin spreading across his lips.
“What’s going on?” I asked, raising my hands.
“I told you,” he said, a twisted grin spreading across his face, “it’s the perfect place.”
“Those girls in town,” I stuttered, “was that you?”
“Maybe,” he laughed darkly, “Or maybe they just inspired me.”
His eyes held the gaze of a hunter.
“You think no one will find me?” I cried, pointing into the shadows behind him, “There’s lights on the trail right now!”
“Cute trick,” he sneered, glancing back, “You think I’d fall for th—ARGH!”
Blood poured from his neck as I yanked my switchblade free, the gun dropping to the grass. What a letdown. I’d sworn to take a break.
“Rule number one,” I said, pressing the pistol to his forehead as he choked and gasped.
“Never turn away from your prey if their hands are free.”
